


and now day bleeds into nightfall

by shuhannon



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Five Stages of Grief, Grief/Mourning, POV Rey (Star Wars), Post-Canon, Post-Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, Reylo Charity Anthology, Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:48:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23147236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shuhannon/pseuds/shuhannon
Summary: The war was won. The dust was beginning to settle. There was still so much work to do, still balance to restore. But the galaxy was beginning to slow down. No longer was everyone working against an ever ticking clock. No longer did everyone have to try and think three steps ahead, to plot and plan, and then do it all over again when everything was foiled at the last moment.No longer did everyone have to feel so isolated. The galaxy was united once more, had come together in the knick of time when numbers were so badly needed the most.Celebrations were planned, feasts were held. Some even in her honor.But not his.***rey tries to work through her grief after the events on exegol.post TROS fix-it fic
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 12
Kudos: 45
Collections: Reylo Charity Anthology: Volume 2





	and now day bleeds into nightfall

**Author's Note:**

> this oneshot was my submission for the reylo charity anthology. originally i thought by the time my submission was due, i would be ready to write a fix it for TROS, that it would be helpful with processing my own feelings about episode nine. in actuality, it was a lot harder to write than i thought. still, i'm glad i made myself do it, and had an opportunity to participate with the RCA.
> 
> trigger warnings: mentions of death, dealings of grief and the grieving process, mentions of masturbation. a whole lot of angst with a happy ending.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/182242012@N03/49659261098/in/dateposted-public/)

The war was won. The dust was beginning to settle. There was still so much work to do, still balance to restore. But the galaxy was beginning to slow down. No longer was everyone working against an ever ticking clock. No longer did everyone have to try and think three steps ahead, to plot and plan, and then do it all over again when everything was foiled at the last moment. 

No longer did everyone have to feel so isolated. The galaxy was united once more, had come together in the knick of time when numbers were so badly needed the most.

Celebrations were planned, feasts were held. Some even in her honor.

But not his.

No, never his.

Poe had nodded when she had told her story, his story, theirs. Finn had listened, but had followed with question after question that soon they were just running in circles, stuck in a never ending loop.

No one understood.

Leia would have.

So would Han.

She dreams of his face. Sometimes he’s wearing that kriffing mask, his voice sounding off, filtered, void of any emotion; cold, calculated and automatic. Sometimes they’re on Starkiller Base all over again, and she sees Han touching his face, feels something changing, a shift in the balance.

She sees Han’s body falling, sees him devoured by the dark.    
  


She doesn’t even scream anymore, doesn’t wake up sobbing and thrashing in her sheets. She’s witnessed so much more since then, has lost so many that death no longer feels sacred, no longer makes her feel anything but numb.

Sometimes she sees him standing in the throne room again, glove covered hand outstretched, scar bisecting his beautiful face, and his lip quivering as he pleads with her one last time.

“Please.”

_ Please. Please. Please. _

She begins to wonder what would have happened if she had taken his hand, knowing that he wasn’t quite whole, that he was still Kylo Ren - but Ben Solo was still buried deep inside. Sometimes she began down the dangerous ash-rabbit hole, playing the game ‘what if.’

What if she had stayed. What if she had helped him, had gotten him to see that he wasn’t so alone, so broken or lost.

What if she had been there to keep the voices at bay, to be an anchor, a guide. What if she had realized the key to saving the galaxy was in saving the last true Skywalker.

What if she hadn’t been so stupid, so foolish. What if she had trusted her gut, rather than seeing the world painted in only black and white.

Maybe he would be with her now. Maybe he would be alive, breathing and warm by her side.

Sometimes she just got mad. She got frustrated, angry with him, angry with herself.

“Why did you have to be so stupid?” She screamed through gritted teeth. “Why did you have to give so much of yourself for me?”

Had he not realized that she would be living as a broken fragment, that she would forever be shattered? After all, living with only half of your soul was hardly living at all.

\---

“Be with me. Be with me. Be with me.” She murmured the words beneath her breath like a chant, a prayer.

A plea.

Lying on the cold floor in the depths of Exegol, she had heard the voices of all the Jedi that had passed before her. She could hear their voices so clear and true, and in that moment she had known them; had known their lives, their victories, their struggles.

Now, she just wanted, no, needed, to know one more.

“Be with me. Be with me. Be with me.”

It never works. No matter how hard she tried to focus, no matter how much she clung to the force as if it is her last lifeline, the call remained unanswered on the other end. It was nothing more than a dead end. A wall had been put up, and Rey did not know how to break it down.

“You need to stop doing this,” Finn approached her as she returned back to base on Ajan Kloss. “You’re wearing yourself out. You need to take care of yourself, Rey.” 

But Rey heard what wasn’t being said; this is a waste of time and energy. This isn’t going to achieve anything or help. 

He isn’t coming back.

Sometimes she can still feel his hand on her skin. She remembers feeling nothing, seeing nothing but black, and yet she can sense his fingers on her skin, can feel her body in his arms. 

And that smile. Kriff, she can see that smile, the way the skin in the corner of his eyes had crinkled, the flash of his crooked teeth. Her lips would begin to buzz, and Rey could feel his kiss too, could taste him on her tongue.

What a cruel hand fate had dealt her. After all, Rey had spent so long looking for love, trying to find somewhere that she belonged, someone that she belonged with. Then, when she finally had a taste, when she finally was beginning to feel like home was a person rather than a place, the rug was pulled from beneath her feet.

She was given a taste, was given the perfect first bite, only for it all to be taken away.

So, she ignores Finn’s warnings, she pretends to not see Rose’s worried glances. She blocks it all out, finds a quiet corner, and she closes her eyes.

“Be with me. Be with me. Be with me.” She chants over and over again, until it’s nothing but an endless loop, a song made of nothing but desperate, final act pleas and prayers.

\---

Sometimes she feels nothing but anger, but hate. The darkside swirls inside of her, and Rey knows she needs to focus on balance, on keeping her emotions in check.

But what if the dark side is where the answers lie? What if the dark is where she needs to look at bringing him back?

Let him go, the Force whispers in her ear, but Rey brushes it aside, as if it’s nothing more than pesky flies buzzing around her head. She does not want to be reminded of the thing that gave her life, but took his. 

And, sometimes she is furious with herself for not seeing the subtleties, the quiver of his lip, the warmth of his hand. The way his eyes seemed to look right into the very center of her soul. When she was still uncertain of who she was, of the power she possessed, he knew. One peek into his mind and suddenly he became tethered to her, a piece of her soul.

She had been blind. She hadn’t seen any of that, and only saw the creature in the mask, the monster who had turned his back on his family, on love and light and all things good - for what? 

Power? Glory?

No. 

For he had been just like her, looking for his place, trying to seek out where he belonged. 

Two sides of the same coin. That was what they had been. No, what they still were. Because as long as there was breath in her lungs and blood pumping in her veins, then he would be alive too. She would make certain of that.

\---

The guilt hits in her waves, crashing into her body, one after another in a steady assault. It grows in both power and pace, and soon it is hitting her in such a quick succession, she feels that she can’t get her head above water, that she can’t catch her breath.

Sometimes Rey wonders if it would be easier to just swim down, to stop fighting so much and allow herself to succumb. Perhaps then she would be at peace. She could become one with the Force, could be reunited with so many. Han and Leia would be waiting on the other side. 

Her parents.

Him.

So many times she has laid in bed, wondering why he gave his life for her. He had battled his demons, had turned to light and for what? Her? She was still nothing. Nobody.

Palpatine had done nothing but cause havoc and destruction, had created wars and ended lives. 

How was she to rectify all that? How was she to undo all the damage that had been done?

But he. He was a Skywalker. An Organa. A Solo. He was the perfect amalgamation, the poetic end to finally rectify what his grandfather had started. He was the one who deserved the legacy of saving the galaxy, of undoing all the wrong. He was finally him again, finally the Ben Solo that had been buried deep down inside for so long. 

He had been through so many battles, with his family, with Snoke, the First Order, himself.

Ben Solo - who had been wandering, but was never lost.

Ben Solo - who could have done so much more, had he only been given the chance, been given the time. 

So why her? Why did she get to live while he did not?

_ Because I wanted you too. Because you deserve a chance to find a family, to see the galaxy, to be happy. Because it was my choice, and I wanted to choose you. _

\---

She visits Tatooine. It’s sandy, hot. Instantly she hates the way the sand shifts underneath her feet, the way the suns’ rays blaze down onto the back of her neck. But there’s beauty in this place too. Beauty that she can only now appreciate after her time spent away from Jakku.

Besides, she won’t be here long. She has one final thing to do, and then she will be gone.

Finding a piece of debris from some long lost speeder, she slides down a sandy mound, and for a moment - just a moment - Rey allows herself to feel joy. She relishes in the wind whipping at her face, at the memories it brings back of simpler times.

Her stomach was full now. She did not have to wonder where her next meal would come from, but she was still waiting for someone to come back. 

She was always waiting for someone. Rey knew it was foolish, knew it was silly, stupid. 

But she couldn’t stop thinking, couldn’t disregard the feeling that maybe, just maybe there was a way.

For now she pushes those thoughts away, because there will be time to address that later. 

Now she needs to say goodbye, needs to silence two more voices in the back of her mind. She unfolds the lightsabers.

She still felt lost in this whole mess, uncertain of who she was to be, what role she was to play.

Jedi didn’t seem right - but neither did Sith. No, Rey likes to think that she belongs somewhere in between, somewhere with more balance. Where she can lean into her emotions without succumbing to darkness. Where she can still do good, but sometimes still be reckless, act before she thinks.

Sort of like him, blazing into a battle outnumbered, with nothing more than a single blaster.

In the end, she decides it's time for both of them to rest. No one else remains to carry on their legacy, to tell their stories. No one but her, and so Rey decides that now it is time for something new.

The Force comes to her so easily now, it’s hard to imagine a time in her life when she had not felt its presence, when she had not called for its aid with such ease. Now she always feels it, though it fades into the background, like a distant, soothing hum in the back of her ear.

She holds out her hand and the lightsabers begin to sink, disappearing beneath layer after layer of sand, the grainy particles shifting and sifting around the cool metal of the lightsaber hilts. 

Part of her feels like it is a waste. There are better ways to pass their legacy on. There could be Jedi out there to train, to teach. There could be people like her, feeling lost and alone, uncertain of where they belonged in this world, unsure of who they belonged with. 

But she also knows what it feels to hold someone else’s lightsaber in her hand, how it would never truly belong to you, never be an extension of your arm nor share a part of your soul. It was something you didn’t realize until your own weapon, something fashioned from your hard work, your blood, your sweat, your tears, rested at your belt, until you can feel it in your hand.

No, Leia and Luke had done their part. It was their time to be at peace, to rest, to live on in stories and tales of their heroics and their kindness, to pass their lessons down to future generations, but not their blades.

The Skywalkers were dead - as were the Organas and the Solos. The last of the great families, the ones who had torn apart the galaxy as well as brought it back together, were nothing but bodies evaporated into the force or lost into the black abyss of death. One way or another they were all gone. So, their laser swords would be too. 

Besides, Rey doesn’t think she wants to teach. She had never been natural with people, had never gotten comfortable speaking in front of large crowds. She wants to explore, wants to see the galaxy before settling down.

There are still things to be fixed, wrongs to be set right.

Her work is not done.

And, somewhere in the far depths of her mind, someone whispered,  _ neither is his. _

\---

She travels the galaxy, sometimes with purpose, but usually without. Sometimes alone, sometimes with company. When she first left Jakku, when she boarded the Millenium Falcon and set out on an adventure bigger than herself, Rey had realized that now, now she no longer had to be alone. She finally had found friends, had people to spend time with, and who in return wanted to spend time with her.

Never again would she have to be alone. Never again would she have to endure silence and solitude.

Now, Rey has found she doesn’t mind it. BB-8 accompanies her when Poe can bear to be apart from his droid, and usually D-O’s tagging along, his crips and polite language a refreshing break from the sarcastic, opinionated beeps from the other droids. 

Sometimes she finds a spot in the wide open, puts the Falcon on impulse power and she just… floats. Exists. She stares out into the dark expanse of space, and she feels hope beginning to blossom in her chest. It’s always the faintest spark, the tiniest ember that threatens to ignite.

He could be out there. He could be somewhere, could be waiting.

After all, he wouldn’t be the first. Palpatine. Maul. There are rumors, stories of those who had passed into the afterlife only to return again. Most of them exist within the dark side of the Force, but no longer does Rey pay that any mind.

He was part of the dark side. It was embedded into him, woven through his DNA, the blood in his veins and the marrow of his bones. It was a part of him that would always exist, that would always lie deep down somewhere, sometimes dormant and sometimes not.

Just like her.

Gods, he was just like her.

And he could be out there. He could be tallying marks on a wall, knowing that someday she will find him. That he will see the Falcon flying in the distance and he will just know.

But waiting is a dangerous game, much like living on hope. Perhaps that is why Rey turns her eyes away from the darkness ahead. Why she flicks back on the power and enters coordinates to turn around, to go home. Wherever that may be.

She allows the flame to be snuffed out, suffocates the ember so that it can’t grow, so that it can’t expand into something more.

Hope is dangerous, and in the end it’s nothing concrete. Nothing more than a feeling, a wish. 

Rey has spent too many nights with an aching heart and empty belly, a child in body but not in spirit or mind. There had been no time for wishing on Jakku, there had been no time for hope, and now, there is no time for either.

\---

It begins at random. Sometimes she will be lying in her bunk on the Falcon or in her quarters back at the Resistance base, usually wide awake, staring up at the ceiling and wishing for once she could just drift off to sleep.

She hears him. 

His voice feels familiar, comforting, like the brush of someone’s warm knuckles against your cheek, or the gentle guide of a palm at the small of your back. It fills her with warmth and solace, a soothing balm for the grief that she still suffers from. 

Suddenly the galaxy feels right again, everything feels as if it’s in its proper place. Balance is restored and she knows, she just feels it deep down that all will be alright. 

It fills her with something else. An ache between her legs, a pulsing sensation in the depths of her stomach. The feeling isn’t new, but still foreign, distant. An impulse that she was often too tired to indulge in on Jakku.

On nights when she feels lonely, when she’s missing him the most, she slips a shaking hand beneath the waistband of her loose sleep pants. She allows her eyes to drift shut, her mind to think of him. Sometimes she thinks of Ben with his unscarred face, of his lips moving against hers, and his hand on the back of her neck.

Most times it is Kylo Ren that invades her thoughts; the way he strode down a hallway with such pride and purpose, the grunts and groans he would make during battle. The way he looked without his cowl on, his alabaster skin exposed and glowing in comparison with the dark metal and chrome of his First Order surroundings.

She touches herself, slipping one finger and then two into her opening, pretending that they’re his. But still she feels hollow, empty.  _ It’s not enough, _ she sometimes hears him murmur.

It’s a selfish thought, to want him back for such a carnal and physical act. But oh, how much Rey wants it. She wants to feel his skin, wants to run her hands, her tongue, over every inch of his body. She wants to explore every inch of him, wants to map out every freckle and mole, to trace the constellation of marks that cover his body, to point out every scar and hear ever story behind it.

Rey wants to familiarize herself with every part of his body. Wants to touch him, to taste him. 

And she wants him to do the same to her, to cup her breasts, to lick her cunt. If one kiss could make her body feel as if it was on fire, to feel buzzing and alive, well, she can only imagine what things would be like if they were given more time.

Sweetheart, the voice sometimes calls her, and by any other voice Rey would have been reaching for her staff, would be silencing them with a scowl and a glare. But not him. No, never him.

Some nights it’s the mere sound of his voice, the low rumble of his deep, distinct baritone that sends her right over the edge, her drenched fingers pumping in and out of her cunt as she bites down on her bottom lip, trying to silence the noises that keep building in the back of her throat.

She comes and then she cries, sobbing into the pillow at how empty she feels, how hollow. 

_ Shhh _ , he murmurs, and Rey swears, she swears she can feel his fingertips brush over her hair, can feel his lips against her temple. But she knows he’s not there. She knows she’s still alone, with nothing more than a black undershirt to cling to, to bury her face in and pretend that it’s him.

Sometimes it’s hard to tell if the object makes things better or worse. On one hand, she has something tangible to cling to, something that was his, that still held his scent if she closed her eyes tight and took a deep enough breath.

And other times… other times it serves as nothing more than a reminder that he is gone, that she watched his body disappear, watched him vanish as he became one with the Force.

Still, Rey holds onto it. After all, she was always terrible at letting things go.

\---

The voice grows louder, but remains unpredictable. She never knows when he’s going to start talking, providing commentary on her life.

She keeps this to herself. 

Finn will think she’s dreaming, Poe might suggest she talk to someone, have a med droid scan her or run diagnostics as if she’s a malfunctioning X-Wing. Rose will try and relate, will tell her story after story of her own grief after losing Paige, and how though it does not get better, though you will never feel complete again, it gets easier with time.

But Rey knows this isn’t just sleep or sadness talking. This isn’t a trick of her mind. The Force is being intentional, is bridging them together just like they always have been.

So, she bites her tongue, and tries to reign in the hope. She refuses to react, to even act upon it until there’s something more certain.

She tries closing her eyes. “Be with me. Be with me. Be with me.” Rey chants again and again and again. She is met with nothing but radio silence; static on an otherwise open line. He only speaks when he wants to, or maybe just when he can. Either way, it is a one way street, and once again, Rey is left lost on the other line with nothing to do but wait and bide her time.

Days pass, morphing into weeks, even months. Time moves slowly, yet also all at once. She almost forgets, begins to think that maybe Finn was right, and it was just a dream, that maybe Poe was onto something when he pointed out how run down she was.

And then, she hears it. She hears him.

“I’m here”, he murmurs, and she can feel the way his breath curls against the outer shell of her ear. “I’m with you.”

She stops in her tracks, afraid to move, afraid to breath. Rey wants nothing more than to turn around, to see if he’s standing behind her. No longer does she care if he’s in the flesh or cascaded in blue light. All she wants is to lay eyes on his face again, all she wants to do is see him smile, to reach out and try to take his hand.

But the voice fades. The hairs on the back of her neck no longer stand up, and Rey knows the moment has passed. The next time… she doesn’t know when it will be or how long it will last. 

He’s giving her nothing more than breadcrumbs to survive, but that’s alright. Because Rey has lived off of much less. Even the smallest meal is better than none.

\---

Rey doesn’t know what brings her to this planet. Maybe it’s a feeling, or maybe it’s nothing more than a coincidence. Either way she’s maneuvering the Falcon through a bright light - and then she sees it up ahead, golden and glowing.

The voice in her mind begins to grow louder.

_ Let me go, sweetheart _ , it whispers. _ Let me be. It was my choice. My first and my last. Let it be. _

She ignores it as she lands the old, faithful Corellian freighter down onto the planet’s surface. Luminescent steam rises from geysers that cover the barren ground. There is nothing there. No sign of life in any form; no water, no plants.

It’s empty, arid and desolate. 

Yet the entire planet is bursting, is humming with life.

The moment Rey steps from the gang plank and onto the planet’s surface, she knows this is where she is meant to be.

_ Turn around. Go home. Put me out of your thoughts. Begin to live. You could have such a good life. _

Every step she takes forward feels more certain than the next. Finally, Rey feels like she is doing something right, that she has purpose, much like a compass finally finding true north. 

She isn’t sure how long she walks, for time doesn’t seem to pass the same here. She’s not even sure what direction she’s going in, only being guided by the feeling deep inside. Maybe days have passed, months, years. Rey does not care. She will walk until her feet are cracked and aching, leaving nothing but bloody prints behind in her wake. She will walk until her legs cannot carry her anymore and then, then she will crawl. 

For he died for her. He gave up his light, his life. In return, Rey has no problem returning the favor, in giving up her body for his.

_ Don’t. Stop. Turn around, _ his voice rumbles in his mind, growing in strength and volume. _ Please let me be. I’m not worth it. I saved you so you can live, so please. Go. Live. _

Finally her feet come to a stop. Her body freezes, comes to a complete halt, and then she just knows. She knows what lies ahead, and as much as she wants it, as much as she’s ready for it, she needs just one moment more.

Because if this turns out to be a dream, to be a mirage in the distance or a trick of her eyes, Rey knows she cannot turn around, that she cannot go back. She would rather lay her head down in the dust, close her eyes and drift off into the Force then go on living this half life, feeling incomplete, with a hole in her heart that no matter how much time passes will never shrink, will never be filled.

It belongs to him. It always has, it always will.

And then she sees him. He’s nothing more than a shadow, an outline. But it’s him.

She breaks out into a run, ignoring the way her legs protest as she urges them forward, closer, closer, closer.

Rey jumps at him, feels his solid body beneath her hands, and he’s holding onto her tight, his shaking hands on her hips, her back, on her neck, his fingers getting tangled, getting lost in her hair. He’s whispering to her, his voice hoarse with emotions, and as she reaches up to brush her fingertips along his cheek she feels nothing but teardrops despite the wide smile that is breaking out across his face.

Pressing her face into his chest, she can’t help the sob that bubbles up from her throat. Her mind is racing, a million questions lie on the very tip of her tongue. But there will be time for that later, time to figure out the what’s and the how’s and the why’s. Right now, Rey could hardly care less.

Because she found him. She has him. He is here. Her heart is full once more, her soul is complete.

Finally, Rey feels as if she is home.

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to follow me on [twitter](https://www.twitter.com/shuhannon)


End file.
